


Where Do We Go from Here?

by BlacklistMaestro



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Lizzington - Freeform, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlacklistMaestro/pseuds/BlacklistMaestro
Summary: “You’re My Father!”   Her words echoed loudly in Raymond Reddington’s head."No!"  He wanted to shout.  But, there was far too much at stake.  Still, the last thing he wanted to be was Lizzie’s father.  And, it was the last thing she wanted him to be.This fic begins after the Season 4 Finale; adds scenes to Season 5 while assuming all that happened through the fall finale where Tom dies takes place as played on screen; and moves forward from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A word of caution: This is a Lizzington fic and therefore can get a little ‘icky’ at times until as we get past the “You’re my Father” storyline. (And, perhaps, even after that for some, which I respect). Those that have concerns about these issues should know that this fic assumes Red has known all along that Liz is NOT his daughter and has developed very non-paternal feelings for her and is willing to act on them. It also assumes that Liz has a romantic attraction to Red and is struggling with those feelings in light of the new DNA test. The first several chapters addresses both of these issues before getting to the other side.

Raymond Reddington got out of the driver’s seat of the car feeling strange but somehow liberated in his jeans and black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

He sighed heavily.

_Dad._

Not at all what he wanted to be to Elizabeth. But, if it earned him an invitation to dinner, an opportunity to see and even hold Agnes, and the ability to be close, even if for a short time, he would accept that honorific.

_For now._

He pulled on his baseball cap and grabbed the beautifully wrapped package and the bottle of wine out of the backseat and proceeded to the door.

He rang the bell to be met by a smiling Elizabeth holding a now 11-month-old Agnes. The sight of them took his breath away.

“You’re here!” Liz said enthusiastically as she moved aside, inviting him to enter the home to which he had been denied access for months.

As he handed her the bottle of wine, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered trying to determine exactly what the appropriate gift was for a woman to whom it was just revealed that the man who has spent the last four years helping her, protecting her, and FLIRTING WITH HER was her FATHER!

_I’ll bet even Hallmark hasn’t cracked ridiculous scenario yet!_

In the end, he was still having dinner with a woman so wine is what he brought.

“Red?” Liz questioned at the joke that was clearly going on in his head.

Red, his face matching the color of his name, only shook his head.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he replied formally as Agnes launched her tiny body away from her mother.  Her arms outstretched towards Red.

“Hello little one…” he said giddily as he quickly caught Agnes with his free hand, quickly handing a wrapped package over to Liz to get a better grip on the wiggly child.

Agnes didn’t waste any time, grabbing the brim of his baseball hat, and giving it a tug.

Red chuckled out loud and bowed his head to allow her to remove the cap which she promptly placed on her own, fully engulfing her tiny head.

Liz joined the laughter. She loved the idea of seeing her father holding her daughter. It was what she always wanted. But…

_Father._

Liz shuttered.

There were so many things about Red - her memories of Red; her feelings for Red - that made her uneasy about their new reality.

“She LOVES hats!”

Red smiled.

“That makes two of us,” he said, with a considerably flirtier tone than he intended.

 _STOP!_ _Dad! Remember!_

“So…what did Grandpa bring us?” Liz asked rhetorically to Agnes, deliberately changing the subject, as she surveyed the beautifully wrapped package and headed towards the living room,

_Grandpa!!!!_

The voice in Red’s head screamed as he followed her; Agnes still in his arms playing with his baseball cap.

“Grandpa” was also on the list of honorifics which he deemed unacceptable in this particular scenario.

Red sat down the floor with Agnes; a groan escaping his lips as he found a comfortable position.

_Maybe “Grandpa” is appropriate!_

Agnes on his lap, he reached for the gift and handed it to the little girl. Agnes made quick work of the wrapping. Red was certain that the joy he experienced watching her unwrap the gift was greater that the joy she experienced doing the unwrapping.

The now torn paper revealed a beautiful set of handmade blocks; each carefully carved with a letter of the alphabet on one side and numbers on the other side.

“These are beautiful, Red,” Liz exclaimed, as she examined one of colorful objects.

Agnes immediately picked up one and put it in her mouth which made him chuckle again.

“Did you make these?”

Red didn’t answer; just nodded.

_The music box._

_The cuckoo clock._

_Now these beautiful blocks._

He clearly had gift that Liz underestimated.

“Why don’t you pour us some of that wine while I show Agnes how theses work,” Red suggested before Liz asked any further questions.

Liz nodded and headed to the kitchen.

She grabbed two glasses from the counter; smiling as she listened to the muffled voices while she opened the bottle.

Red would say something. Agnes would babble back. He would laugh. Agnes would laugh.

It was when he lowered his voice that Liz felt compelled to move closer to eavesdrop.

“Watch…” Red whispered provocatively (at least Liz felt like it sounded provocative) while he placed the blocks one by one into a tall tower. Agnes sat patiently next to him; her eyes widening as the tower got taller.

“Are you ready?” he whispered excitedly, when he had placed the last block.

Agnes just watched him. Unsure of what to do next. Liz was quite sure her daughter had never been so captivated by anyone before.

_Like mother, like daughter._

_STOP IT, LIZ! SHEESH!_

Liz shook her head as her cheeks flushed.

“Now…we knock it down!” Red announced enthusiastically as Agnes stared at him.

He pushed the lowest block out from under the tower causing it to come crashing to the ground.

Agnes startled, unsure of the appropriate emotion until Red laughed loudly and clapped his hands.

Agnes responded in kind with a vibrant giggle that made his heart ache.

Red restacked the blocks. This time, allowing Agnes the honor of collapsing the tower, earning him another intoxicating laugh.

The ritual continued, the tower getting shorter each time as Agnes’ understanding of the game increased and her 11-month-old patience got the best of her.

Liz was memorized. She had not seen her daughter respond to Tom this way. But then again, Tom hadn’t every taken the time to patiently teach her something new.

Once Agnes understood the concept, Red enlisted her help in rebuilding the tower.

“Right here” he would say as he steadied her hand to place the block.

“Just wait” he coached as he saw the glint in her eye emerge when she was ready to prematurely knock down the tower.

Liz tore herself away from the scene to return to the kitchen to pour the wine.

As she rounded the corner, she heard him whisper…

“You know, there was another little a long time ago girl who once enjoyed these as much as you do,” Red said quietly, nostalgia and sadness clearly audible in his voice.

Liz was stunned. These were HER blocks!

While she hated to interrupt, she couldn’t help herself.

“These were my blocks?!?!?” she questioned.

Red was startled. He was so engrossed with Agnes and their game, he hadn’t realized he had made the comment out loud. Within earshot of Elizabeth.

_You don’t lie to Elizabeth._

_Seriously! She thinks you are her father. How is that not a lie?!?_

_She didn’t ask you that question directly. She TOLD you that you were her father. You just didn’t deny it. That’s different!_

_She did as you THIS question directly!_

He was stuck.

Red sighed.

“No, they are not your blocks,” he confessed.

These blocks belonged to his daughter. His REAL daughter. The blocks had been her favorite toy. He had made them for her before she was even born. They had played with them together much the way he was now showing Agnes.  They were the one thing he had kept as a memory of his lost child; yet, for some unexplained reason, felt compelled to give them Agnes tonight.  

Red sighed. The weight of the grief over his lost daughter was heavier at this moment than it had been in decades. Yet, Agnes’ giggles, helping her tiny hands place the blocks, and the joyous look in her eyes when the wall came tumbling down made it all worth it.

“But…” Liz was confused.

_Not my blocks?!?!?_

_He made a set of blocks for another little girl?_

Wait! His file said he had a wife and daughter. Of course, these wouldn’t be her blocks. They would be mementos of his REAL family. Not his illegitimate daughter!

_Don’t be a fool, Liz!_

“So about ‘grandpa,’” Red began, changing the subject before she could continue down this road he was certain would unravel his entire world.

Liz looked up with a small smile; trying not to ruin their evening with her feelings of inferiority and even jealously of Red’s “real” daughter.

“What would you prefer?”

“Maybe we could just let Agnes decide…”


	2. Chapter 2

They enjoyed their time together. Always…enjoyed their time together.

It had become more consistent and more comfortable than their first evening together. Sometimes, Red would cook dinner while Liz put Agnes to bed and they would spend a quiet evening enjoying each other’s company. Red regaling Liz with stories of knighthood or something of the like; Liz listening intently or whining about the Blacklister of the week.

Other times, Red would play with Agnes while Liz cooked dinner. The three of them would eat together; Red often the one who would finally get Agnes to eat something or to try a new food. He had clearly been around a toddler before and, each time he was there, she had to remind herself that SHE was one of those toddlers. If she didn’t, she quickly fell back into the trap she had been in before this bizarre reveal - an inexplicable yet compelling attraction to this “monster.”

The invitation would always come when Tom was away doing whatever “business” he determined was important enough to take him away from his family. She hadn’t told Tom about her invitations to Red or her desire for her father to know her daughter. She didn’t know why. She just wanted it to belong to only her; to only them.

Tonight’s routine changed when Liz’s phone rang.

Liz rolled her eyes at Red, who was busy stirring the elaborate bolognaise he has prepared for them, as she held Agnes on her hip.

“It’s Ressler.”

Red nodded. This couldn’t be a good sign. He’d given them another Blacklister earlier that week. This call would likely take her away from their evening. The thought made his heart hurt a bit.

“Go ahead…” Red beckoned, as he took Agnes from her.

“Babbo…” Agnes addressed as she fell into Red’s arms. As expected, Agnes had developed her own name for this man who appeared in her home on a regular basis. The name had evolved over time. It started with her pointing at Red with “Ba”; moving to “Baba” and finally to the refined, and now consistent, “Babbo.” The fact that “Babbo” is the Italian word for “Daddy” made him appreciate it even more.

“It will be our little secret,” he whispered to Agnes with a sly smile.

Red listened intently to Liz’s side of the conversation.

“I can’t. I have Agnes and Tom isn’t here.”

“Well…I might have someone I could ask to watch her…” she said with a glace towards Red who nodded in agreement.

“…but it’s late, Ressler. Can’t it wait until tomorrow.”

Red sighed and turned back to stirring the sauce.

“I understand. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She finished as she hung up the phone and looked a Red with a shrug.

“Yes…” he replied without her needing to ask.

“I hope it won’t be late,” she said as she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

While an unexpected change, Red enjoyed his quiet evening alone with Agnes. They finished dinner, played with her blocks, and danced in the living room before changing into PJ’s (Agnes, not Red), and settling onto the sofa to read her favorite stories.

_Perhaps this wasn’t such a terrible evening after all._

Agnes’ eyes drooped and she snuggled closer to him all the while holding her favorite puppy named “Chance.” Another gift from ‘Babbo’ on one of their previous night’s together.

“How about if we get a little more comfortable, Miss Agnes?” Red suggested, wearily as he kicked off his shoes and sprawled out on the sofa. Agnes nuzzled closer to him in this new reclined position; her tiny head resting peacefully on his chest. The vibrations of his voice, still reading her favorite “Brown Bear” book, rocking her to sleep.

He loved the fresh “baby” smell of the top of her head. He delighted in the way her tiny fist closed tightly around his crisp, white shirt. And, was lulled to sleep himself by the quiet noises and squeaks she made as she dreamed.

Liz entered the apartment to a rare, and unsettling, silence. Agnes was NEVER this quiet - always babbling; cooing; laughing; or crying. Liz was immediately concerned and rushed to find her daughter.

She was not prepared for site she found when she rounded the corner. The infamous Concierge of Crime sound asleep on the sofa. No shoes. No tie. First three buttons of his shirt undone. Her daughter sleeping as peacefully as she had ever witnessed on his chest.

Liz couldn’t’ remember ever seeing him this vulnerable. This “normal.” It was endearing. It was comfortable. It was…alluring?

_NO, LIZ!_

Liz shook off the uncomfortable feelings, grabbed the blanket off the sofa and laid it gently over both of them.

As Liz bent down to kiss her sleeping daughter on the head, strands of her long hair fell gently on to Red’s face. He inhaled deeply as her silky hair swept across him; the smell intoxicating. His eyes fluttered open to find her hopelessly close to him.

Liz turned towards him when she felt him stir.

Red didn’t speak. Simply held her gaze; reveling in their proximity. Fighting every urge to reach out and pull her lips, only inches away, to his.

“Stay,” she whispered simply before placing a light, seemingly lingering, kiss on his cheek.

Red’s eyes fluttered closed as he felt the warmth of her lips. Desperately wishing that circumstances were different.

Still…she had invited him to stay. Wanted him to stay. A new olive branch that existed in this new environment of “fatherhood.”

Red pushed the thought from his mind.

Deciding instead to enjoy the sensation of her lips; the warmth of her body; and the vision of her in his mind.

___________________________________________________________________________

Red arrived back at the safe house the next morning exhausted. He hadn’t slept well on Liz’s sofa yet wouldn’t’ change a moment of the last few hours. He relished the opportunity to be close to both her and Agnes.

“How was it?” Dembe asked from his perch by the fire.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Red replied.

“Of course, it’s not. She thinks you are her father,” Dembe replied, bluntly.

Red bristled.

“You have to tell her, Raymond.”

Red was in no mood to endure his associate's opinion yet again. Especially since he already knew what it was.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Red went silently to the decanter on the counter and poured himself a scotch.

“Yes. I know it is 9am,” Red directed at Dembe, his back still to him, before his brother could chastise him.

“This isn’t kind of relationship you want with her, Raymond.”

“You don’t think I KNOW that!” Red spat back, remembering vividly his overwhelming desire to kiss Elizabeth the night before.

“What is stopping you?”

Red just shook his head and walked out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

The phone rang loudly; jarring Red from what was an unusually restful slumber.

He looked at the clock.

2am.

_Nothing good ever comes from a phone call at 2am._

He reached for the phone. Its screen announcing the caller.

Elizabeth.

_Panic!_

He answered immediately.

“Elizabeth…is everything alright?” he asked, trying to conceal his anxiety.

Before the words were even out of his mouth, he could hear Agnes crying loudly in the background.

“Yes.” She said, fatigue audible in her voice.

“Sort of…”

“Is Agnes alright?” Red asked, curious about the reason for this unusual, late night call.

“Yes. Well…no…”

“Elizabeth…what can I do for you?”

Liz sighed. She hated herself for making this call but she was at her wits end with nowhere else to turn. And, Agnes was always so calm around Red. Surely, he could help.

“Tom’s not home. Agnes has been literally screaming for hours. I don’t know what to do…” she confessed.

“I’m on my way.”

Red couldn’t help but smile. He liked that she called him. He liked that she wanted his help; needed his help. It had been a while since they had spent an evening together. Since Tom’s return, Lizzie’s invitations had been far more sporadic than before. He was grateful for this time; even if it was the middle of the night.

As Red approached the door, he could hear Agnes’ crying. Understanding why Elizabeth was overwhelmed. He smiled to himself as he raised a fist and knocked on the door.

Liz immediately flung open the door to reveal Red in a crisp, freshly-laundered white shirt and dark pressed trousers carrying a black duffle bag.

Why does he always look so damn put together - even in the middle of the night!

“Thank god you’re here!”

Red smiled.

Agnes was sobbing; giant tears streaming down her bright red face.

“Babbo…Babbo…Babbo…” Agnes cried, reaching for Red.

_Daddy. Daddy. Daddy._

Red heard. His heart aching. He would give anything to be that child’s father!

“Just a minute, Sweetheart,” he said, kissing her on top of her head as he walked past Elizabeth.

Liz was stunned. She wanted nothing more than to hand off this screaming child and he walked past her!

“Red, could you…” she pleaded.

“In a minute. Just trust me. Wait here,” he said softly before rounded the corner to her bedroom.

Liz couldn’t believe her eyes. What on earth was Red doing in her BEDROOM!

“Red…seriously!”

“Give me a minute…” he shouted from afar.

Then, Liz was certain she heard water running. She rolled her eyes. Maybe asking for his help was a mistake.

A few minutes later, Red emerged from the bathroom to find Agnes screaming louder than before and Elizabeth now also in tears.

“Give her to me,” he said quietly.

Liz obliged immediately.

Red took Agnes to her room and placed her in her crib. Her response was an even louder wail.

“I’ll be right back, little love. I promise,” he whispered calmly before leaving the room.

Red returned to the living room to find Liz with her head in her hands.

“Come with me,” he commanded with an outstretched hand.

“Red! What are you doing? Where is Agnes?” she scolded angrily.

Red said nothing. Simply extended his hand.

Liz put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her into her bedroom. The mysterious move causing her stomach to flutter.

_For pete’s sake, Liz!_

As he opened the door to the master bathroom, Liz felt a warmth. The room was contined more candles than she could count. The bathtub was filled to the brim with bubbles. There was an open bottle of her favorite wine on the counter; one glass already filled and waiting for her. The soft music coming from the speaker he had brought with him completed the picture.

_What this man could do with the contents of a black duffle bag!_

Red felt Elizabeth melt into him. The sights and sounds already bringing about the relaxation that he intended, despite Agnes’ pleading cries in the distance.

“Red…I don’t know what to say…”

He smiled; releasing her hand and wrapping his strong arm around her shoulder.

“Now, you are required to stay here until three things have transpired,” he whispered directly into her ear.

Liz looked at him with a small disbelieving smile.

“Agnes has stopped crying.”

Liz nodded. That was a given. She wasn’t going out there again!

“No less than 10 songs have played.”

Liz chuckled.

“Okay.”

“And, you have finished at least half of that bottle of wine.”

“Seriously!”

“Yes,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

Liz sighed as she heard the click of the door.

_How does he know just what she needs?!?! Every time! Without exception!_

Before she knew it, Liz had finished more than ½ the bottle of wine, she was now well past 10 songs (she knew because she had sung along with most of them), and her warm bath was beginning to cool. But, she was relaxed. A totally different person than the frazzled woman who had walked hand-in-hand into the bedroom with Raymond Reddington.

_Even in her head that sounded weird. Jeez, Liz!_

She sighed; wondering when or if she would ever, could ever, see him as her father. Or if she even wanted him to be!

She listened. No more crying.

_Who knew the Concierge of Crime was a baby whisperer!!_

Reluctantly, she pulled herself out the bathtub. Put on some fresh, comfortable clothes and went to find them.

She started in the kitchen. Then the living room.

It was the soft sound of music and Red’s baritone voice led her to Agnes’ nursery.

There was a soft light coming from the corner of the room illuminating Red swaying slowly with Agnes in his arms. She was still awake but calm. Her head resting on his broad shoulder; her tiny fingers playing the with buttons on his shirt. Listening intently to Red’s relaxed chatter.

Liz observed them for what seemed like an eternity. Watching how gentle he was with her. How calming. How she fought sleep seemingly to continue listening to his voice as he alternated between stories, humming, and singing portions of the songs that played on the small speaker in the corner of the room. The songs were love songs yet somehow seemed to fit the odd pair of Red and Agnes here in the darkness.

Liz shifted causing the floorboard to creek; alerting Red to her presence. He turned to slowly to see her standing in the doorway.

“Better?” he questioned softly.

“Dramatically! Thank you,” Liz replied softly, yet sincerely.

“Perhaps we should ask your mother to dance with us,” Red said softly to Agnes.

When Liz smiled, Red extended his hand. He laid her hand on his shoulder and pulled her close to him. A sleepy Agnes still cradled in his other arm.

Liz rested her other hand on Agnes’ back. Gently soothing the tired little one; willing her to close her eyes.

If Red had been aware of their true relationship before Liz told him a few weeks ago that she was also in on the secret, you wouldn’t’ know it. He’d always been what would be considered wholly inappropriate with her considering he was her father - from the language he used, to the way he looked at her, to the way he touched her. Nothing, other than perhaps his undying devotion, would have suggested there was this type of connection between them.

Liz assumed he’d known. Assumed that was why he did all that he did for her.

_It is what parents do after all. You would do the same for Agnes._

He hadn't reacted when she told him that she knew. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. Other than the crack about preferring “illiquid” to “broke.” And, his behavior remained unchanged. Including the way he held her tonight - pressed tightly against him. Close enough to feel his warmth and the beat of his heart.

“Did you enjoy the wine?” he questioned, his lips close to her ear, his body still moving them, nearly imperceptivity, to the music. His warm breath on her face caused a similar flutter to the one she experienced earlier when he led her to her bedroom.

_What the hell is wrong with you, Liz!?!?!?_

_And, what the hell is wrong with Reddington!??!?!?_

The wine. Maybe it was the wine. It could be the excuse for the inexplicable feelings. Tonight at least. But it couldn’t explain it for the past four years. It couldn’t explain the dreams. The flutters. Nor the jealously she felt whenever he interacted with another woman.

_What was she missing? Something clearly didn’t add up._

Liz shook her head in disbelieve at their currently predicament.

“You didn’t?” Red probed softly without loosening his grip.

Liz was confused.

“What?”

“You didn’t enjoy the wine?”

Liz took a deep breath.

“Oh…the wine. I did enjoy the wine. Probably too much of it,” Liz whispered, her hand moving, seemingly of its own accord, from Red’s shoulder to pull her fingertips through the short hairs on the back of his head.

This unexpected move caused him to inhale sharply.

Things were getting out of hand. He had allowed his personal feelings - his desire for her - to drive him. He chastised himself for his weakness.

_Too far, Reddington!_

“What’s happening here, Red?” Liz begged, her fingers continuing to fondle the hairs on the back of his neck. 

Red held his breath.

“I’ve never lied to you, Elizabeth,” he heard himself say.

Liz looked at him bewildered.

_What the hell does that mean?!?_

Four years of conversations flooding her mind…

“ _Are you my father?” “No.”_

_“I’m telling you, with no uncertainty, your father his dead. He died in that fire.”_

_“I know why my father died that night. I shot him.” “Yeah.”_

_“…the man she loved killed by the child she adored…”_

_“…hornswoggled by something so easily fabricated as a DNA test…”_

The spell was broken with the slam of the door. Tom was home.

Red didn’t move; nor did he release his grip. Trying to see if what he tried to communicate to Elizabeth with that simple statement had registered.

He honestly wasn’t sure what to wish for –either path opened a Pandora’s box of colossal proportions.

“Your ‘husband’ is home,” he growled softly as if they had just been caught in some torrid affair.

In some ways, they had.

“He doesn’t know,” Liz replied, refereeing to their countless dinners and evenings spent together over the past couple months, as she pulled away from Red, feeling suddenly chilled.

“I didn’t want to listen to his opinions.”

Red nodded. He had assumed as much but this revelation confirmed why Tom had invited him to dinner a few weeks ago to “surprise” Elizabeth. Red had accepted out of courtesy but didn’t stay so as not to complicate things.

“He doesn’t need to know.”

Liz nodded her gratitude. Red would find a way out without alerting Tom.

She turned to leave but stopped.

“Red…I…”

“Go…”


	4. Chapter 4

Here they were. Again. In unimaginable situation.

Tom dead. Elizabeth in a coma. Red once again sitting over her lifeless body.

He blamed Tom’s inability to leave the damn suitcase alone for their predicament.

_It was his own fault._

_Not exactly._

_Yes! If he would have done what I told him, we wouldn’t be in this godawful mess._

_If there were not a suitcase to begin with, you wouldn’t be either._

Red scoffed at the voices in his head.

It was ultimately his fault and he knew it.

Dembe was right.

Again.

He remembered vividly the terrible night when they carried Elizabeth and Tom to the car. Watched them say their final good byes as the interloper he really was. Tom’s death. The announcement that Elizabeth hadn’t woken up; might never wake up.

Each moment had brought them to this place.

He and Dembe had picked up Agnes that night and took her with them.

_What it felt like to have an infant in the house again!_

Elizabeth stayed in the hospital for several weeks. Finally, Red had had enough. He rented a lavish house on the coast of Maine for them. And by “them,” he meant Elizabeth, Agnes, and him along with Dembe, of course. Not to mention, the countless nursing and wait staff required to manage Elizabeth’s care outside of the hospital.

Red took a deep breath and opened the book on his lap.

This had become routine.

In some ways, it was a routine he savored.

In all reality, Raymond Reddington was playing house.

For the first time in decades, he had a reason to come “home” each evening. He had a “family” that needed him. There was a beautiful woman who owned his heart there; and a little girl who called him “Daddy.” (The fact that it was unintended and in Italian was irrelevant as far as he was concerned.)

And then she woke up!

* * *

 

Red had held her hand while she sobbed over Tom’s demise. Told her Agnes would be excited to see her. Sat close to her until the doctors arrived. Reassured her that everything was going to be ok. Then took his momentary leave to give the doctors space to do what doctors do.

“I’ll be right outside,” he assured.

She nodded. Scared. Unsure. But grateful for his calming, steady presence.

Red closed the door behind him.

Elated. And, frightened.

He expected her reaction to the news about Tom. After all, she had married Tom…again.

After their inappropriate evening in Agnes’ room now over a year ago, Elizabeth had pulled away from him. Despite what he was trying to tell her, there had been no more late night invitations. No more invitations, period.

He had frightened her and she went running back Tom. As she always did when she was frightened.

And then she announced that they had remarried.

_It's your own fault!_

He was afraid she would blame him. Feared her rage. Was terrified she would take Agnes and leave. And he would, again, be alone.

“It’s quite miraculous, really,” the doctor expressed.

Red nodded. No one, except him, expected her to ever wake up. They all thought he was a fool. They wanted to pull the plug. But he refused.

“She’ll make a full recovery. But it will take time.”

That was fine. Red had nothing if not time these days.

He returned to the room to find the tubes removed. Liz resting comfortably, if exhausted, in the bed by which he’d kept vigil for the past 10 months.

He sat beside her again took her hand.

“You’ll make a full recovery. But, you have to give it time.”

Liz nodded. Her throat sore from the tube that had invaded it for nearly a year.

“Agnes?” she croaked.

Red smiled at the mention of the child.

“She’s fine. Exuberant, in fact,” he said, his voice full of pride.

“She’s here. I’ll bring her to you when you are ready.”

Liz nodded as a tear ran down her cheek. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Where are we?”

“Maine.”

Liz’s eyes widened.

“Right on the coast. The view is breathtaking, actually. It is very remote. The only place I could think of…” his voice trailed off.

_…that we could live for a long time because no one thought you would ever come back to us._

_…where no one would look for me, Number Four on the FBI’s Most Wanted list._

_…where we could be a family._

Red shook his head and looked out the window as if admiring he view.

“Why?” she asked hoarsely.

_Why did you think this was a better place than a hospital?_

_Why did you read to me every day?_

_Why did you give up a year of your life to take care of me?_

_Why did you take care of my infant daughter?_

Red simply shrugged.

* * *

 Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open as the vivid memories of the day before - the day she finally awoke - came rushing back to her.

The fear.  The doctors.  The news about Tom and 10 month of lost time.  Each a capsule of information that she had yet to process. 

Red had stayed with her until she fell asleep.  He talked mostly about Agnes. How big she had gotten.  How many words she knew.  The things she liked.  Or, more importantly, the things she didn’t. 

The fact that Red had brought Agnes to see Elizabeth every day for nearly a year had surprised her.  Afterall, wouldn’t the countless tubes and machines frighten a young child?   Apparently, not.  Each day, he brought her to visit.  He made it seem ‘normal.’  Agnes would play on Lizzie’s bed.  Crawl over her.  Sit next to her.   “Read” stories to her.  All under Red’s watchful eye.   He had decided it couldn’t hurt either of them.  And, it hadn’t.

As much as she wanted to, Liz hadn’t felt well enough to see her daughter.  She needed some time to wrap her mind around all that had transpired before she embarked on this new reality.  Perhaps today would be the day. 

There was a soft knock as the door slid quietly open revealing Dembe.

“Good Morning, Elizabeth.”

Liz didn’t understand why but suddenly her eyes were filled with tears. 

Dembe enfolded her in his strong arms as she cried.

He waited patiently for her to gain control of herself.

“I’m sorry, Dembe,” she said hoarsely. 

“Did you sleep?”

“I’ve been asleep for nearly a year!”

Dembe nodded. 

“Where is he?”

“He’s with Agnes.”

Liz’s ears perked up.

“They are on the beach.” 

_The beach?  The house is on the beach?_  

“They are out there a couple mornings a week.   I think you can see them from the balcony.  Would you like me to walk out with you?”

_Balcony?_

“Please, Dembe,” she begged, suddenly desperate for glimpse of her now two-year-old daughter.

Dembe gently helped her out of bed and walked beside her, practically carrying her, to the balcony.

Red and Agnes were, in deed, on the beach. 

The first sight of Agnes was breathtaking.  Liz was memorized by petite, dark-haired little girl with a round-shaped face and pig tails. 

She watched her pick up sea shells; Red close by as the waves rolled in and out again in a consistent, predictable rhythm. 

Agnes would pick up shell after shell.  Sometimes, she would show the them to Red as if asking for his opinion before adding them to her collection.   When her tiny hands got full, she would relinquish the shells to Babbo who promptly slipped them into his pocket before she began her quest again.

Finally, Agnes put her arms up – a child’s universal language for “pick me up.”  Red hoisted her into his arms and pointed to the sea towards a passing ship.  Liz watched as the little girl mimicked his motions, wrapped her arms around his neck, and snuggled her face into his strong shoulder.  Her sleepy eyes drooped as she relaxed into his protective warmth.  Red wrapped both arms around her tightly pulling her close. 

Liz watched this comfortable ritual for what seemed like hours; her emotions in constant conflict. 

Gratitude towards Red who had clearly given Agnes the stability that at neither she, nor Tom, were able to provide. 

Sadness, and even anger, that it was Reddington rather than Tom sharing this father/daughter moment.  

And, while she was wasn’t willing to admit it or give it a name, an odd jealousy.  The thing was, she wasn’t sure if she was jealous of Red or…of Agnes.   A thought she swiftly pushed from her mind.

A weary Agnes held tightly in his arms, Red turned to walk towards the house.

It was only then that he realized they were not alone.

Red stopped.  This had been a solitary ritual for 10 months; the thought of someone watching them hadn’t occurred to him. His initial hesitation was replaced quickly with relief to see Elizabeth’s vibrant, alive face looking down on them.

Red sighed heavily before raising his hand to wave at her; a small smile invading his face.  A gesture Liz, somewhat hesitantly, returned.


	5. Chapter 5

Liz’s physical recovery was progressing more quickly than she expected. What she hadn’t expected was Red’s undivided attention through the entire process or his unmistakable bond with Agnes.

The feeling of helplessness and dependency was driving her crazy. She was never one to allow anyone to take care of her; certainly, not to wait on her. The way her muscles had atrophied was astounding. The physical therapist Red hired had already proven useful. She could feel herself grow stronger every day. Just two weeks after she first awoke from her 10-month sleep, Liz was finally able to get around, sort of at least, on her own.

Tonight, she simply wasn’t content to lie in her bed and wait for the other residents of this lovely house to come to her. She was going to them.

Liz rounded the corner of the hallway to voices and laughter coming from the bathroom. She peaked in. A broad smile immediately crossing her face at the picture before her before it was replaced again by the dark cloud that seemed to follow wherever she went.

Agnes was sitting in the tub filled with bubbles; toy boat firmly in her grip. Red, in what was left of his suit, was sitting in front of the tub, sleeves rolled up, guiding a toy boat through the bubbles, and making loud, frankly hilarious, “boat noises.” It wasn’t long before Agnes began to drive her boat around the outside of the tub; mimicking Red’s boat noises.

Part of Liz was momentarily charmed by the site of these two. Yet, the dark cloud seemed to overtake the feelings of joy.

_Tom. Tom should be part of this ritual._

“You know, boats really go in the water, Agnes,” Red schooled.

Agnes giggled loudly before dropping her boat into the water with a splash; spraying water all over the bathroom floor, and all over Red.

Red wiped the water off his face with his hand and shook his head with a smile.

“Right. Thank you,” he said, politely as Agnes laughed again.

Liz watched as Agnes and Red continued to play with their respective boats in Agnes’ bathtub. Agnes chasing Red. Red chasing Agnes. There were giggles. Laughter. She witnessed more smiles on Red’s face in the three minutes she stood in the doorway than she had in the four years she had known him.

Suddenly Agnes noticed Liz standing in the doorway.

“Hi Mommy,” the little girl chimed, waving at her mother through the bubbles.

Red looked over his shoulder to find Liz.

“You’re doing better,” he said quietly with a small, reassuring smile, still surprised each time he saw her.

Liz nodded; feeling very much like an interloper in this clearly defined ritual.

“Babbo, I’m done,” the little one announced.

“Alright,” the man agreed as he grabbed a giant fluffy towel from the rack, hoisted the dripping wet child out of the bath, and swiftly wrapped her in the oversized towel. The towel entirely consuming the child. Agnes giggling the entire time.

Liz shook her head in disbelief. Red had always been good with Agnes but this was an entirely new level domesticity that she hadn’t expected. It was one thing for him to come over occasionally. Get Agnes to eat her dinner, read her a story, or rock her to sleep. This was different. This was a level of child care – parenting, really – that she would never have contemplated. She had watched this man do unimaginable things but, tonight, he was simply giving her two-year-old a bath. A routine that seemed somehow ‘normal’ to him and Agnes. The dichotomy of these two seemingly different men was overwhelming.

Liz shook her head unable to find the words to express her thoughts.

Her response, or rather lack of response, was troubling to Red. Ever since she had awoken, she seemed to be struggling. Obviously, physically as she worked to regain her strength but it was the discernable emotional turmoil that most concerned him. She seemed to be struggling with Tom’s absence. Struggling with Red’s presence. Struggling with going to sleep with a 1-year-old only to wake up to a 2-year-old. It was to be expected, he supposed, but he could seem to shake the feeling of dread that surrounded him.

“Elizabeth?” he questioned, gently shaking her from her thoughts.

She looked at him blankly.

“Would you like to do the honor of ‘jammies?” he asked as he hoisted Agnes into his arms.

“Ok,” Liz said softly, a blank look in her eye, as she followed them to Agnes’ room.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The days passed relatively uneventfully at the beautiful house on the secluded beach. Daily visits from doctors and therapists were the norm. Red’s nearly constant presence and, occasional, conspicuous absences, were as well.

Liz seemed to continue to improve physically but her mental health was a different story entirely. Sometime bright, sometimes dark – Liz (and Red) were never sure which emotion would prevail at any given moment.

It was a rainy afternoon when Liz rounded the corner of the study.

“I don’t want to!”

Liz heard the little voice shout at the top her tiny lungs.

“You don’t have to.”

The older voice replied calmly.

“I want to go outside and get shells!” the child shouted again.

“Agnes, it is raining.  We are not going outside.”

Liz peaked around the corner to find Red calmly sitting in his chair, drinking coffee and reading the New York Times, while Agnes stood, arms crossed, in the center of the room leading the argument.

“But I want to,” she began to cry.

“I would be happy to read you a book,” Red offered over his newspaper.

“No!” the child screamed back.

Liz couldn’t help but smile. She was curious to see how the Concierge of Crime would handle a screaming two-year-old.

When he didn’t reply, the child threw herself on floor, kicking and screaming.

Red casually sipped his coffee and returned to reading the paper; seemingly oblivious to the child’s tantrum playing out in front of him.

Liz couldn’t help but chuckle to herself as she watched the little drama play out before her.

The tantrum continued. Its intended recipient still quietly enjoying his coffee and newspaper.

It was several minutes before Red spoke again; the outburst still in full swing.

“When you’re finished, Agnes, I see the Brown Bear book over on the table,” he said calmly, his eyes still on the newspaper.

The little girl stopped momentarily to see what he was talking about before continuing the tirade.

Red continued reading for another minute before speaking up again.

“And, I think I see Chance over by your doll house,” Red said quietly.

Agnes stopped again, looking for her favorite puppy – the one Babbo had given her over a year ago. The little girl got up from the floor, retrieved Chance and the Brown Bear book and stood in front of Red. A grumpy look on her face.

“Would you like me to read to you?” he asked, quietly.

“Yes,” Agnes replied grouchily.

“Yes, what?” Red prompted.

Agnes pouted.

Red waited.

“Yes. Please,” the little one finally relented.

“I would be honored to read to you, Agnes,” Red said warmly as he put down his paper, picked up the child and put her, and Chance, on his lap.

Liz remained in the door until Agnes had fallen sound asleep on Red’s lap. Then she watched as Red closed his eyes too and observed the two of them asleep in the chair.

The site was endearing. She found herself inexplicably drawn to him. 

Yet, Liz was conflicted. It was difficult for her to fathom how the Concierge of Crime could be such a kind, gentle father.

_Father._

Yet other unresolved issue on her plate. In keeping with his behavior since he showed up on her doorstep nearly five years earlier, Red was acting like anything but her father and very much like Agnes’.

But he wasn’t. Tom was Agnes’ father. And Tom was gone.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Liz wandered the beach. It was part of her therapy - the regaining of her strength and independence. At least, that is what she told herself.

In reality, it had become a place to search her soul. For what, she had yet to determine.

_Tom is dead._

Just the thought caused a pit to form in her stomach.

The fear of being alone terrified her.

The idea of not being able to raise their daughter as a the happy family she always dreamed of angered her.

“Are you Elizabeth?” a woman’s voice questioned from behind, pulled Liz from melancholic thoughts.

Liz was startled.

_How would anyone here know your name?!?!?!?_

“It is you isn’t it,” the woman insisted.

“I’m so happy for you! And for your daughter!” the woman gushed.

Liz was baffled.

_What the hell is this woman talking about!?!?!?_

“I’m sure your husband is thrilled! I know he never left your side!” the irrational woman continued.

_Husband! This woman knows Tom?!?!? Never left my side?!?_

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying,” the woman went on. “I see them – Robert and Agnes, I mean – out here on the beach a couple mornings a week. He updates me on your progress. Although I haven’t seen them in a couple of months. I didn’t know you were awake!!”

Liz excused herself from the awkward conversation as politely as she could. Her blood boiling as she stormed into the house in search of Reddington.

“MY HUSBAND,” she shouted at the top of her lungs at him when she found him sitting quietly in the library reading.

Red startled at the volume of her address.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, confused by her outburst.

“You know full well what I’m talking about! You told that woman that YOU are my husband! I assume you also told her that Agnes is YOUR daughter!” Liz accused at full volume.

Red took a deep breath.

“Ah. So, you met Beverly…” he replied simply.

His seemingly patronizing response irritated her.

“Robert, Elizabeth, and Agnes?!? The happy family next door?!? Really?!??”

“Elizabeth, what would you have had me tell her?”

“How about the truth!”

“Right. Hello, I’m Raymond Reddington. I’m Number Four on the FBI’s most wanted list. I’ll be your next door neighbor for the time being. And, by the way, I have a woman in a coma and an infant here with me, too,” Red replied, sarcastically.

“You are NOT my husband. You are my FATHER. REMEMBER!” Liz hurled back.

_WHY DOES HE NOT SEEMED TO UNDERSTAND THIS BASIC DNA-PROVEN FACT!?!!_

Red sighed again.

True. He probably could have told the woman he was there taking care of his ill daughter and his granddaughter. But, if he was going to live a fantasy, he preferred the one he crafted to Elizabeth’s current, and frankly ridiculous, version.

“This was more believable.”

Liz rolled her eyes.

“Tom is my husband.”

“Tom is dead.”

His words hit her like a baseball bat as she relived, as if in fast forward, the events of that horrible night.

Red watched as Liz went into a trace. The ever-changing looks on her face signaling distress. He knew what was happening. Had experienced himself. He got up from his chair, approaching her slowly.

“Don’t touch me!” Liz spat as he wrapped his arms gently around her, pushing him away.

“Go to hell!” she hissed.

"Probably..." he replied, softly as she stormed out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been a month.

_That’s long enough._

Red had decided when we went looking for her.

_Agnes has been without her mother long enough._

He truly believed when he departed to find her solitary space in the woods.

_Agnes needs her mother. Needs to be able to create a relationship with her mother._

That’s what he told himself.

_You are doing this for Agnes._

In reality, he missed her. Even when she was lying lifeless in the bed in the sunny room full of windows, she as still… there. He could feel her presence. Talk to her. Hold her hand.

Her departure hadn’t been good. She was clearly struggling with Tom’s death. Red thought Tom’s death, Liz’s illness, and his steadfast presence would have brought them closer. Yet, now Red felt a confusing distance between them. A distance that hadn’t existed prior to the “incident.”

She seemed angry. Distraught. Unable to move forward. Unstable. Distant.

“I need to go,” she had said to him.

He couldn’t fathom what she was thinking. Leaving her child again when she had already missed so much. So many firsts. So many more to come.

“For how long?” he had asked.

She just shrugged.

“Where?” he pressed.

Another shrug.

Of course, he would care for Agnes. He had been caring for Agnes for over a year. To be honest, despite his efforts to connect them during Elizabeth’s long sleep and first few weeks of recovery, he had more of a relationship with the child than her mother did.

It had been a month since she walked out of the house; watching Red and Agnes wave ‘Bye Bye’ as she pulled the car away. She had not contacted them.

He knew where she was. Of course, he did. After all, Raymond Reddington left nothing to chance.

_Enough!_

He thought as he pulled up to the rundown cabin high in the Appalachians on that sunny, yet cold afternoon. A new fallen snow making the landscape even more peaceful than he imagined.

He got out of the car and pulled on his fedora.

No sign of Elizabeth.

He wandered up to the cabin. It was dark inside.

He knocked. No answer. No movement.

He looked around for any sign of life. She was here as recently as yesterday according to his source.

He tried the nob. It was unlocked so he let himself in.

He wandered the house, feeling like an intruder as he surveyed her private fortress in the woods. Half eaten breakfast in the sink. Half finished bottle of wine on the counter. Pictures of Agnes and Tom on the table.

_No pictures of you._

_Jealous?_

_You don’t allow anyone to take your picture._

_He’s dead. You won. Get over it._

_She still loves him._

_She thinks you are her father!_

Red pushed the thoughts from his mind. She wasn’t here.

He walked outside and surveyed the landscape. Beautiful. He certainly understood why she chose this place. It was ultimately the fresh snow that gave her away. Her tracks leading through the trees and up the hill.

He followed them.

Given that he wasn’t fully prepared for hiking in the snow, he was grateful that it didn’t take long before he spotted her sitting peacefully beside a crystal clear mountain lake.

The site of her took his breath away. He watched her for a moment - brushing what he could only assume were tears out of her eyes.

His heart hurt.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, coldly, sensing his presence.

Red was taken aback. He hadn’t expected her ire.

“It’s been a month, Elizabeth. Agnes is asking about you.”

Liz sighed. She wasn’t in the mood to be lectured by “Dad.”

Silence.

“It’s time to come home to us.”

Liz was taken aback.

_‘US!??!’ What is he thinking? That they were going to live happily ever after as some sort of fucked up ‘family?’_

“Us?” she questioned angrily.

“Elizabeth…” Red began calmly; wishing he could walk back his comment.

_Dad?!?!?!_

Liz was conflicted. Despite her revelation over a year ago that he was, in fact, her father, his actions had continued to deny it.

_Him smelling her hair when she bent down to kiss an 11 month-old Agnes asleep on his chest._

_Their moment in Agnes’ room before the tragedy._

_“I have never lied to you.”_

_His constant bedside vigil during her coma._

_His clear desire, almost need, to raise Agnes as a father._

_Telling the neighbor she was his wife._

_“Us.”_

She needed answers. Answers that he, clearly, he wasn’t willingly give her directly. She remembered his reaction to her touch that night in Agnes’ room.

_You know how to find out!   Just do it!_

But she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to make the move.

She breathed deeply; never breaking eye contact.

“What exactly do you think ‘us’ is, Red?” she asked quietly, approaching him slowly, her demeanor changing dramatically.

Red was unsure exactly where she was going with this sudden change. It made him uneasy.

She reached him; looked up into his eyes.

He remained silent. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

_A warning?  Something else?_

He couldn’t discern.

Suddenly. Without warning. Without pretense. Liz wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into an intense, passionate kiss.

Red was stunned. So much so that he did not return her embrace, or even her kiss.

_It’s a trick. You know it is a trick!!_

But, then…she didn’t stop. She didn’t back down. Worse, she intensified their moment. Her finger tips grazing the back of his neck as her lips became more urgent until he couldn’t control himself any longer.

Everything he had wanted for so long; now in his arms. Her lips pressed to his. He couldn’t resist her any longer. Didn’t want to resist her.

When he finally gave himself to her, he returned her kiss with more passion, more urgency, than he intended.

Liz felt Red respond in a way she had never expected or experienced. With a palpable desire; as if the culmination of a lifetime of waiting.

That was what she needed to prove her point. He was certainly NOT her father!

She intended to end the charade and confront him with the reality once she knew for sure but her body’s response to his desire surprised her. Her knees seemed to fall from under her. Her chest could barely contain the pounding of her heart. She didn’t want to stop it. She only wanted to lean into it; her body craved more of him. There was something incredible erotic about experiencing this intense passion with Raymond Reddington alone here in the snowy woods.

Then suddenly, the anger that she had been grappling with since she had awoken from a nearly a year of sleep, surfaced.

_It’s all a lie. Your entire life is a lie._

She abruptly ended their passionate kiss and before she knew what was happening, she felt the sting in the palm of her hand as it slapped him hard across the cheek.

Blinded by the smoke from the fiery passion they had created, Red didn’t see it coming. He heard the sickening crack of flesh on flesh long before he felt her palm cross his face.

“YOU’RE NOT MY FATHER!” she shouted angrily at the top of her lungs, the energy previously directed towards passion now manifesting in pure, unadulterated anger.

“NO, ELIZABETH. I’M NOT YOUR FATHER!” he shouted in return, unable to help himself.

The shouting only intensified as they continued.

“You LIED to me!”

“Elizabeth, I have NEVER lied to you. I told you over-and-over again with no uncertainty that your father is DEAD!”

“You let me believe for over a YEAR that you were my father!”

“You believed what you wanted to believe, Elizabeth. Just as you did when Alexander Kirk showed up!”

“My whole life is a lie!”

“So, is mine! Doesn’t get any easier, Elizabeth!”

Liz stopped. Processing his words.

Red sighed. Grateful for the momentary cease fire.

“Let’s go home,” Red said softly.

“HOME!” Liz’s temper flared again.

“There isn’t a HOME to go HOME to anymore!”

Red sighed.

_How is this going to end?_

“Tom was my home. Tom and Agnes. And, now Tom is DEAD! Because of you!”

“Elizabeth, I did not kill Tom. Quite the contrary. I protected him. Countless times. Even when he was foolish enough to get in over his head. Frankly, against my better judgement,” Red shot back.

“You said he was on some sort of job. Did it have to do with you?” she countered.

Red thought for a moment.

_You can’t start lying to her now!_

“I warned him against getting involved. He refused to heed that warning. And, now he’s dead. It was his own fault,” he spat.

“Tom is dead because of YOU! Nic is dead because of YOU! Mr. Kaplan is dead because of YOU! Audrey! Meera! Shall I go on?” Liz accused, her eyes narrowing with intense fire.

“Who is next, Red?”

_Silence._

“Me?!?!?!?”

Her words pierced Red’s heart. He had already experienced that. He couldn’t do it again.

“Agnes?!?!?”

_Silence_

A similar pain shot through Red’s chest.

“It has to STOP!”

“I want you to GO!”

Red heart stopped. He couldn’t speak.

“I want you to GO and NEVER come back. I don’t want you anywhere near me or my daughter EVER AGAIN. Do you understand?!?”

“Elizabeth…”

“GO!”


	7. Chapter 7

THREE MONTHS LATER

He left.

What else could he do?

He had tried to reason with her that night and in the days that followed. But she would not relent. In her mind, Raymond Reddington was the root of all evil that had befallen her. He was death. Death to her husband. Death to her friends. She wasn’t willing to risk her safety, the safety of her daughter, or the safety of those around her any longer.

She had packed up Agnes and moved them back to Washington in the days after their argument (and passionate kiss) in the woods. The little girl begging Babbo to go with them as Elizabeth buckled her into her car seat and drove away.

And then, he was alone. Again.

He had spent nearly a year by Elizabeth’s side. Woke up every day to a little girl whose eyes lit up when he entered the room. Now they were gone. Not in a pool of blood as it was the first time he experienced loss. But, nearly as painful and, in some ways, more so. They were still there living their “normal” lives but he was forbidden. The monster locked outside the door.

His grief was as crippling as it had been back then. His anger, his rage, his violence all consuming.

Dembe tried to reason with him but the downward spiral was too steep. He recognized this man as the man that had gradually disappeared when Elizabeth entered their lives. Now, he was back - even more powerful and frightening than before. Red’s life had become chaotic, reckless - as though he had nothing to lose. And, in reality, he didn’t.

“What are you doing here, Elizabeth,” Dembe questioned sternly when Liz opened the door of the tucked away restaurant in Paris’ Latin Quarter.

Liz had returned to Washington and to the FBI but it was not the same. The Task Force had been suspended. Turns out it was problematic to have a task force directed by intel from a criminal informant without actually having a criminal informant. The Bureau was ready to shut it down all together if they didn’t have a new case soon.

Agnes still asked every morning if Babbo was coming that day. Liz had grown weary of the question. Wondering how long it would take for a two-year-old child to forget about man who had basically been her father for nearly a year. Google - it turns out - didn’t have a good answer.

Oddly enough, when she found herself alone, and lonely, it wasn’t Tom who crossed her mind. It was Red. She found herself longing for one of his absurd stories to keep her company. Craving a delicious, yet obscure, Reddington meal creation. Wishing he was there so she could hand off the tantrum-throwing toddler. Wanting someone who knew when she needed a bubble bath, bottle of wine and soft music before she knew herself. Missing the sensation of his strong arm around her. His hand in hers.

_What are you doing?_

_Tracking him._

_Showing up in his hideaway._

_You threw him out!_

In all actuality, she didn’t know what she was doing there. She decided she would figure it out when she saw him.

“Can I see him?”

Dembe thought for a moment. He had watched his friend transform over the past three months; watched him devolve back into the world from which Elizabeth had seemingly rescued him. He didn’t know what effect seeing her would have. He felt protective of his old friend.

“You asked him to go. He respected your wishes. You should leave him alone.”

Liz felt a pain in her chest at Dembe’s words.

He was right. She had no right to be there.

“Please.”

Dembe sighed. Against his better judgement, he opened the door and followed Elizabeth inside.

Liz was surprised to see Dembe walk entirely through the restaurant and out what appeared to be the back door and onto an elevator. She followed none-the-less.

The elevator took them down several flights and opened into a magnificent jazz club of sorts, several stories beneath the ground. It was something Liz would have envisioned from the 1920’s – all of life’s pleasures – wine, women, and song – all hidden away underground. She couldn’t help but smile. It was exactly where she would have expected to find him.

She stepped out of the elevator and surveyed the room. No sign of Red. Liz looked at Dembe and followed his gaze to a booth tucked in the corner of the room where she spied him listening intently to the music played by an accomplished jazz combo in the center of the room.

Then she saw something else - an attractive, young woman sitting next to him. Whispering in his ear. Laughing at his responses. Looking at him with a coy smile.

Liz stopped. This was NOT what she bargained for.

_Jealous?_

Liz pushed the thought from her mind.

It was when the young woman leaned in to kiss the side of his neck that Liz turned to leave.

“This was a mistake…”

Dembe grabbed her arm to stop her.

She turned back to him to protest only to find Red looking at them. Dembe offered a small shrug; still holding Elizabeth in place.

Red whispered something into the woman’s ear. She giggled. He kissed her passionately before vacating the booth walking towards them carrying his nearly full glass of scotch.

Liz’s heart was pounding as he made eye contact; never releasing his gaze.

_This was a mistake!_

Red stopped directly in front of her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Keen?” Red said, formally, disgust audible in his voice.

Liz froze. She hadn’t expected this reaction from him. Her ‘I’ll figure it out when I see him’ plan was failing.

What exactly was she here to tell him?

_Agnes misses you._

_I miss you._

_Come home to...‘us.’_

“Let me guess...you need another Blacklister?” he suggested, sarcastically, breaking the silence.

He seemed…different. 

_Silence._

“No. Not a Blacklister. Alright…perhaps you’re having trouble getting your two-year-old to go to sleep or eat her broccoli,” he continued, mockingly.

His facial expression. His tone. Distant. Angry. Frightening.

This was not the same man who had put his life on the line countless time to save her; was there for her without exception for five years; and seemingly relinquished his world for nearly a year to care for her and raise her daughter.

“I know!” he exclaimed, “You have a new man in your life that is a TOTAL catastrophe and you need “ _daddy_ ” to get deal with him for you!” he finished with a sadistic smile.

Liz bristled at the final remark as Red downed the remainder of his glass of scotch in one gulp.

“You’re drunk,” Liz said softly, finally finding her voice.

Red laughed a loud, belly laugh as he tossed his head back.

“Yes, Elizabeth. I am VERY drunk.”

If he thought about it, he had spent quite a bit of time, too much time, in this state over the past three months.

“Who is she?” she inquired, nodding to the woman in the booth.

Red’s lips curled into a small wicked smile. He stepped closer to Liz.

“That’s Rebecca. She’s going to do unimaginable things to me later this evening,” he said with a smirk as he took another step closer to Liz and bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Unless, of course, you would like to take her place?”

Liz’s hand moved to the same position it had the last time they were together. Only this time, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he had ingested, Red’s left hand swiftly caught hers before it struck his cheek as his right hand threw the now empty scotch glass against the wall shattering it into a million pieces. The noise and the gesture startling Liz.

“You lost that privilege, Elizabeth,” he spat, heatedly. Close enough for Liz to feel his warmth and smell the alcohol on his breath.

Dembe stepped in between them.

“Stop before you’ll say anything else you regret,” he said sternly to Red.

Red took a step back but didn’t stop.

“You want another Blacklister, Agent Keen? I’ll give you one.”

Dembe moved to object but was quickly silenced.

“I am, and always have been, Number 1 on our little list,” Red began contemptuously.

Liz looked at him in disbelief. Was he really suggesting what she thought he was suggesting?

“Go back to Washington and tell Harold that it’s time to hunt ME.”


	8. Chapter 8

Red watched her sleep silently from his perch in the corner of her Vienna hotel room.

She had tracked him to the enchanting Austrian city. Or rather, he had allowed her to find him if only so he could occupy her space for a fleeting moment.

Ultimately, he regretted it - telling her to hunt him that night in the underground club.

It was true enough – he was, in fact, Number 1 on the Blacklist. Yet, as their world had taken its dramatic twists and turns over their five years together, he had often fantasized about removing himself from the ill-fated position.

But he hadn’t.

He deserved to be on the list; needed to be on the list. With him now firmly in control of the Cabal and the recent strengthening of his empire, he was truly one of the primary threats to the security of the world.

Despite the regret, it was the right decision.

And, here they were.

_At least it keeps her close. Her hunting you._

He watched her eyes flutter. She was dreaming.

_Certainly, not about you!_

_You don’t know that!_

He argued with himself as he studied her features.

_“I want you to GO and NEVER come back…”_

The memory reverberated in his mind.

She never wanted to see him again; she didn’t want him anywhere near her child.

She had finally called his bluff.

Red sighed audibly at the thought causing Elizabeth to stir.

Ultimately, he had done that what he had come to do – protect her from the Cabal until the Fulcrum could be located. It was her childhood memories of its location that had caused the danger after all. No one had any use for Masha Rostova any longer. Yet, selfishly, he continued to allow her to believe that peril remained on the horizon just to be close to her; close to Agnes.

_“You understand the tight bonds make you vulnerable, so you are careful not to have any.”_

Red’s gaze settled on Elizabeth’s fluttering eyes.

_Until now._

He sighed; rubbing his temple with his fingertips.

The only remaining danger to Elizabeth and Agnes was him. And, the bones in that damn suitcase Tom refused to relinquish would only raise the stakes. She was right to send him away.

_Actually, death at the hand of a member of the task force is likely the best of all possible worlds._

Red visibly shrugged at the notion.

It was unlikely that they would torture him or choose a particularly inhuman manner to end the reign of the Concierge of Crime. And, the last face he would see would carry at least some positive memories.

_Are you actually hoping that Elizabeth be the one to pull the final trigger!!???!_

Red caught himself. His mind drifted to Sam. Then to Kate. There was no greater guilt that cutting short the life of a friend - even a former friend.

_Selfish Coward!_

No - he wouldn’t wish that on her.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was as striking as he remembered yet she looked weary. The sight made him long for the days he could intervene to help her – rescue her from a notable blacklister; draw her a bath; take the baby; make her dinner.

_You sound like an amazing husband._

He pushed the outlandish fantasy from his mind as he observed her rhythmic breathing; envying her ability to sleep so deeply.

When she stirred again, he made his presence known.

“What brings you to Austria, Agent Keen?” he whispered, command audible in even his softest voice.

Liz sat up straight in her bed at the sound of the voice – his voice. The light sheet that covered her falling away to reveal a thin sleeveless camisole that barley covered her small frame.

Red caught his breath as he took in the sight of her.

Her heart pounding, Liz scanned the room for the source of the intrusion.

She spotted his silhouette sitting in the chair. Legs crossed. Signature fedora propped delicately on his knee.

_Damn!_

A month of her tracking his movements throughout the world had brought them to this moment. Early the next morning she and the task force were to intercept Red as he closed his latest nefarious transaction.

She wasn’t sure why she had chosen to pursue him. If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t imagine the thought of him in prison. Or worse, dead. Yet, she pursued him because she didn’t know what else to do. From the moment she had become a profiler, from her very first day, he had been there.

_What would be left if he wasn’t?_

FLASHBACK  
“He said that?” Cooper said in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“That we are supposed to hunt HIM.”

“Yes - he said that he is, and always, was Number 1 on the Blacklist.”

Cooper shook his head.

“How do you feel about that? Hunting your father.”

Liz swallowed the lump in her throat.

“He’s not my father.”

“What? We ran the DNA. Why would you say that?”

The picture of their passionate kiss in the woods flashed in Liz’s mind.

“Trust me. He’s not.”

Cooper looked at Liz skeptically.

“Did he ever act like my father?” Liz ask sarcastically.

Cooper shrugged.

_No._

While this new story didn’t all seem to add up, Harold Cooper shifted his gaze to the other members.

“How do you feel about this?”

The silence was deafening as the collection considered the possibility of actually hunting the man who had essentially become part of their team; something akin to a friend while no one was actually willing to adhere that particular label to their relationship with one of America’s most wanted. Still, he had saved each of them more than once; become a sort of awkward confidant to some; a scandalous mentor to others.

Harold hesitated. He had grown to respect Raymond in an odd sort of way.

It was Donald Ressler who broke the silence.

“Raymond Reddington is personal friends with the world’s most retched criminals; creates chaos; facilitates crime; topple governments to benefit his personal agenda …”

Donald’s colleagues often tired of his boy scout righteousness. Yet his argument was difficult to protest.

“…he is possibly the most dangerous man in the world. I don’t know how we refuse.”

END FLASHBACK

“I’m doing exactly what you told me to do,” Liz finally responded.

Red rose from his post in the corner; moving stealthily towards Liz. Giving her an arousing sense of deja vu.

“You need to understand that I cannot be responsible for the safely of your task force.”

“You wouldn’t hurt us. I know you,” Liz challenged.

“It’s how I found you.”

“You didn’t find me, Agent Keen. I led you here.”

_Of course, he did!_

Liz rolled her eyes.

“I brought you here to warn you, Agent Keen. The next time we meet you should be prepared to defend yourself.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Liz whispered assuredly.

_She is calling your bluff again._

Red moved closer until he was standing above her. The sheet that covered her legs had slid down to reveal her black lace panties. Despite his quickening heartbeat and his past discression, Red did not divert his gaze; rather lingered at the sight of her. She had already thrown him out; insisted on never seeing him again. He had literally nothing to lose. He was done hiding his desire for her.

Red’s unwavering gaze caused the flutter she had experienced in their prior moments together to return to Liz’s stomach. The recollection of their passionate moment in the snow flashing in her memory.

“One is not afforded the privilege of living the life I lead without the ability to neutralize ANY threat. Just ask Mr. Kaplan. Or your father,” Red coldly.

“GET OUT!” Liz shouted, harshly at the mention of the murder Sam.

“Where have I heard that before?” Red said sarcastically with a tilt of the head.

He leaned close to her. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, causing a sudden, unexplained warmth encompass her.

“Don’t test me, Elizabeth,” he warned nearly imperceptibly directly into her ear before placing a lingering kiss on the side of her neck, donning his fedora, and walking out of her hotel room.


	9. Chapter 9

Liz awoke to the sound of soft voices coming from Agnes’ room.

_Someone is talking to Agnes!?!?!_

The thought startled her. She immediately grabbed her gun and moved stealthily to her daughter’s room.

The voice she heard calmed her; although she wasn’t sure why.

It was Red.

The last time she had seen him he was a bloody mess.

FLASHBACK

“Damn it” Red exclaimed when he saw her on the monitor.

Yes - he had told her to make him the target but he had also warned her not to get in the way. Was quite clear, he thought, that he could not guarantee her safely. Yet, here she was. Along with her damn task force!

His client was already skittish, not to mention well-armed. The presence of the FBI would certainly be unwelcome. The risk was already high. Elizabeth’s presence only made it higher.

“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly when she answered her phone.

“Exactly what you told me to do!”

Red sighed.

“Trust me, Elizabeth. You, and your task force, need to leave. Might I remind you that I cannot be responsible for your safety.”

With that, Red hung up.

Liz looked at the phone.

“He told us to stand down,” Liz relayed to Ressler.

Ressler liked Reddington. Well – perhaps not ‘liked.” He had grown to respect him. Sort of. But, when he was pushed the Task Forces’ to hunt him, he again became the boy scout.

“Like hell!”

A pit formed in Liz’ stomach. There was no way for this to end well.

The standoff was like something from the movies - armed men, black limousines, an abandoned warehouse.

“GO, ELIZABETH,” Red shouted when the predictable gunfire began.

Yet rather than run away from him, she ran towards him, which only made things worse. 

He took the bullet that was meant for the “pretty FBI agent” - or so the guy calling the shots had named her.

When Dembe pulled him from the fight and dragged him into the car, Liz followed.

“You need to go, Elizabeth,” Dembe insisted.

She didn’t move.

“It’s a flesh wound, Elizabeth,” Red reiterated, blood now soaking his teeth from the internal bleeding.

Liz was frantic. There was blood everywhere. And, it was coming from his chest.

“Drop her somewhere safe and call Donald,” Red commanded.

Liz’s eyes grew wide. He was going to ‘drop her off?!?”

“I’m not going anywhere!”

She, too, had memories of never leaving his side for the past five years; of being the one who held the wound to stop the bleeding and waiting outside the door until there was news from the doctor. This was familiar. This was the right thing to do.

Red nodded. Somehow comforted, despite all that had transpired between them, by the fact that she wanted to stay with him.

Moments later Dembe pulled to the side, got out of the car, and opened the backseat passenger door for Liz.

“Go,” Red said, simply. Still bleeding and weak.

Liz was dumbstruck.

NO! She wouldn’t just ‘go!’

“He honored your wishes, Elisabeth. He is asking you to honor his.”

Liz squeezed his hand and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead.

“Take care of yourself!” she whispered.

“Greet Agnes for me,” he replied weakly.

END FLASHBACK

But, still. What was he doing in Agnes’ room in the middle of the night?

She listened; peering through the crack in the door.

“What is it?” the little girl asked, inquisitively

“You should open it,” said the older voiced in a hushed, baritone.

The little girl smiled as she ripped into the package; the gesture bringing much-needed warmth to Red’s heart.

“A unicorn!” Agnes nearly shouted with glee when she revealed a colorful, stuffed unicorn.

“Shhh…we don’t want to wake your mother,” he cautioned with a smile.

“Does she have a name?”

Red thought for a moment.

“How about we call her ‘Destiny?’”

The little girl nodded.

“Destiny,” she repeated.

“And, a new book,” she giggled with glee.

Red smiled.

“Read it, Babbo?” the child asked enthusiastically.

“Yes,” he agreed immediately as he got up from the floor where he was kneeling by her bed to sit in the rocking chair on the opposite side of the room, beckoning Agnes to join him.

Her observation of this moment gave Liz pause. She had noticed several new toys and books appear over the past few months – each with a specific name or story relayed by Agnes. She had assumed Rosa had purchased them on one of their many outings so never questioned it until now. Agnes’ nearly constant questioning about when Babbo would return was also becoming clear. Liz figured a two-year-old would forget the past but this child seemed to have an impeccable memory. Babbo’s regular presence would explain why Agnes never forgot about him and constantly inquired about his return.

Her mind told her to be angry. To rush in and put an end to this ridiculous ritual which he had no right to participate in.  Yet something stopped her; a desire to observe rather than interrupt overtaking her.

She watched as Red relayed the contents of the book out loud to Agnes who in turn turned the pages at his signal. Her tiny head leaning contently against Babbo’s chest; both Destiny and Chance joining her on his lap. She watched as Agnes’ eyes drooped (it was the middle of the night after all) and a smile crossed Red’s weary face. She watched for what seemed like an eternity – waiting for him to tuck her into bed and move to leave. But he didn’t. Rather, he simply rocked her. Held her. Kissed the top of her hear. Whispered things to her that Liz couldn’t hear.

When she was certain Agnes was asleep, she slowly opened the door.

Red sighed.

“Hello, Agent Keen. I was wondering when you would formally join this ceremony,” he said dryly, systematically rebuilding the proverbial wall between them.

Red got up slowly from the chair; Agnes still cradled in his arms. He gently laid the child back in her bed; pulled the coverers over her; tucked Chance and Destiny beside her, seemingly to protect her in his absence; kissed her tiny forehead; whispered in her something only meant for her into her ear; and turned to Liz.

“Alright…,” he whispered putting his wrists together in front of her face so she could properly handcuff him and haul him to jail.

He looked fit but tired; probably from the injury that she had caused. Again.

She grabbed his hands and pushed them down. She had no intention of taking him to jail tonight.

Red was surprised but remained silent.

“How are you?” she asked sincerely.

_Lost._

_Rutter-less._

_Heartbroken._

He didn’t speak.

Liz maintained eye contact despite Red’s silence.

All he could think about was their moment together in the woods; their kiss that intensified with each passing second before she ended it and sent him away.

Red took a breath and quietly a took a step towards her.

Liz’s heart stopped at his proximity.

_What is he doing?!?!?_

Catching him in her daughter’s room, she could have won the ridiculous game they had been playing. Could have taken him to prison, put away one of the world’s most wanted, had her book deals and speaking engagements, never had to work again, and retired to raise her daughter in the peace she seemed to crave. And yet…she declined.

He sensed something new in her. Something different.

Liz broke the silence.

“Red, what are you doing here?”

Red turned back towards the sleeping child’s bed; a heartfelt smile appearing momentarily on his face.

Liz watched the adoration flash in his eyes.

“You are willing to risk everything just to see Agnes?”

He thought back to the past few months - to the monster that had returned when he was cast away by the only person he cared about in the world.

_The monster._

Red closed his eyes and visibly flinched as his mind retuned to the fateful night of the fire thirty years earlier. He heard the gunshot. Watched his nemesis fall to the floor. Heard Katerina’s scream. Saw the child run away. Smelled the smoke. Saw the flames. Ran to leave. But…stopped.

_Are you really going to leave that child in the house?_

_She’s HIS child. He took YOUR child! An eye for an eye! GO! Save yourself!_

_Is that really what you have become? A monster!?!?!?!?_

Red shook off the memory; wiping the beads of sweat that had appeared on his brow with the back of his hand before turning back to Liz.

“She’s.…my humanity…”

_As you have been since that fateful night when you were four-years-old!_

Liz looked at him; sincerely trying to understand.

“…it’s easy to forget sometimes,” he whispered.

With all terrible things that were required of him on a day-to-day basis – the lives he took without a second thought; the destruction he created at will - he needed to be reminded that he was still human. He needed help remembering that, despite the fact that he didn’t always act on it, he had the capacity to do the right thing. The capacity to care. The capacity to love. The capacity to be loved in return.

Liz’s heart broke. She knew, had even experienced, his humanity - his tenderness, his empathy, his compassion, and (even though it frightened her to think about) his love.

Red didn’t understand. She had thrown him out; said she never wanted to see him again. She had agreed to hunt him, yet seemed unwilling to complete the task. She could have apprehended him in her hotel room in Vienna – he wasn’t armed. She could have won this absurd war the night he was shot - he was certainly vulnerable. She could have put him in handcuffs tonight. Yet she not only did she not move to arrest him; she hadn’t even stepped back from his initial advance.

“What do you want from me, Agent Keen?” Red asked, honestly, close enough to smell what remained of her perfume.

Liz heart fluttered and her mouth went dry. She wished she knew the answer to that question.

Red reached his hand slowly towards her, gently tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. The gentle touch causing a visible shiver to vibrate through her.

_You do know the answer, Liz!_

The voice in her head was deafening.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Red felt her holding her breath as they stood, hopelessly close to each other, in the quiet darkness of Agnes room. He couldn’t help but wonder - if he kissed her, it would change anything?

_But…_

“Elizabeth?” he murmured, begging for an answer.

Liz’s eyes met his. Her head shaking nearly imperceptibly “no.”

_Patience._

“Tell Agnes I’ll be back soon,” he said softly before brushing by her, grabbing his hat and coat, and walking out of Agnes’ room.


	10. Chapter 10

“Remind Harold we aren’t on the same team any longer,” Red said mockingly when Dembe announced the caller on the other end of the line.

“He said it is about Elizabeth.”

Red sighed.

_Why is it that you are still willing to entertain anything related to Elizabeth Keen!?!?!?!?_

“Hello, Harold!” Red said cheerfully.

“I heard you,” Harold said sarcastically.

“Good. Then you understand why this conversation is over,” Red replied curtly as he moved to hang up the phone.

“She’s in danger.”

Red sighed again.

_Will you ever stop risking your life to save this woman!?!?!?!?_

“’Danger’ is a bit of a fuzzy term in my world, Harold. Would you care to elaborate?”

“She’s looking for you. You insisted you were next on the Blacklist, remember,” Harold quipped, returning Red’s snark.

Harold relayed the details of Liz’s predicament to Red. She was indeed walking into the Lion’s Den.

Red hung up and slammed the phone onto the table with a huff.

If he didn’t go after her, Elizabeth would most certainly be dead before the end of the night.

“Tell Edward to turn the plane around. And, have them press my tuxedo. Turns out I’m going to Dominick’s soiree after all,” Red growled with an irritated smile.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Red strode into the lavish party as though he owned the room, helping himself to a glass of scotch offered to him by the scantily-clad waitress. In reality, he owned most rooms. This room, however, was one he didn’t want to possess. He had excused himself earlier in the week from this particular event when he sold Dominick out to the highest bidder - personally arranging what would transpire later this evening to eliminate the competition. His men would be storming the building in exactly 22 minutes. He had 22 minutes to find Elizabeth and, despite the obvious strain in their relationship, persuade her to leave.

He spotted her on the other side of the room near the dance floor. He watched her from afar, fighting off the countless men that approached her. The sight made him proud of her. But then, there was one, Dominick himself, that she didn’t rebuke. Instead, she embraced; kissed even.

Red’s blood began to boil.

_Jealous!?!?!_ _No! Elizabeth being the guest of the host simply makes things more difficult._

Red insisted to himself.

He watched as Dominick kissed Liz’ neck; whispered in her ear; and walked away.

While he was irritated by his rival’s actions, Red was well aware that this was his opportunity. He downed the scotch in his hand and walked toward Elizabeth, making a mental note to put the final bullet in Dominick’s head himself later in the evening.

He watched her as she sipped her drink and scanned the room. She was dressed elegantly in a floor-length, low-cut mauve formal that left little to the imagination. Her long, dark hair draped over one shoulder.  Her three-inch heals completing the picture of beauty and sophistication.

Red approached her from behind; her warmth intoxicating him even before he reached her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her towards him as he pressed his lips to her ear.

“Fancy meeting you here, Agent Keen,” he murmured in a low, gravelly voice.

Liz tried (and, frankly, failed) to hide her surprise, and her reaction to his touch.

_Damn! How does he ALWAYS do that!?!?!? You were supposed to surprise HIM!_

She inhaled deeply as she turned her head towards him; pressing into his heat.

“You’re making this way too easy,” she responded coyly.

Red smiled as he slowly broke his hold on her, his fingers trailing the full length of her waist before finally extending his hand. She had three previous, far simpler, opportunities to arrest him. He entirely doubted her willingness to do so now.

“Dance with me?”

Liz smiled.

“Is that your last request?” she asked, placing her hand in his.

Red smiled smugly, led her to the floor, enfolded her in his arms and pulled her tightly against him.

Liz felt her body responded to him immediately; a heat building inside her that she wasn’t sure she would be able to control if he continued. Her thoughts immediately returned to their fleeting moment in the snowy woods a few months earlier. She could even feel his lips on hers.

“Dominick? Really?” Red asked sarcastically.

“I needed an invitation to the party,” Liz confessed innocently.

“And, what did you do to get that invitation, Agent Keen?”

Liz sensed the jealously in his voice. And, enjoyed it. It gave her a power she hadn’t anticipated; yet reveled in.

“Not what you think. Yet…”

She didn’t pull away. She only leaned into him. It seemed they were playing the same game; Red relishing each moment of their cat and mouse banter.

“Are you armed?”

Liz was taken aback by his question.

At her lack of response, Red swiftly moved his knee between her thighs pressing their bodies even more tightly together until he could feel the firearm she had discreetly strapped to the inside of her thigh causing Liz to gasp audibly.

Red couldn’t contain the smile that invaded his face at her reaction to his touch.

“I’m proud of you,” he quipped, triumphantly.

_Damn. Way to play it smooth, Keen!_

Liz rolled her eyes at herself before composing her demeanor.

Red looked at the clock.

_Tick tock!_

“What would you do, if I asked to you leave….”

Liz tensed.

_Where is he going with this?!?!_

“…asked you to abandon this mission. Forget Dominick.”

_‘Abandon this mission?’ Was he asking her to stop hunting him?_

Liz drew a deep breath; trying desperately to remain in character for the evening.

“And, why would I do that?” she smirked, enjoying their game.

“What if I asked you to leave…with me…”

Liz’s mouth went dry; her body betraying her as it pressed tighter into his frame. Her fingers caressing the short hairs on the back of his neck.

_Is he suggesting….that?!?!?_

Red looked directly into her eyes and sensed her arousal. It was just what he needed to get her to leave willingly; simply slip away unnoticed before the bloodshed began.

“Let’s go…” he murmured lowly. His eyes locked on hers; his voice full of urgency and promise.

When she didn’t respond, Red broke their gaze and slowly pressed his lips into the pressure point on the side of her neck just below her earlobe. Breathing in the scent of her perfume with each tiny, yet insistent, movement of his mouth.

Liz’s mind, and body, were flooded by emotions not the least of which was a burning curiosity – no, it was more than a curiosity – it was a desire - to experience him. To explore their mysterious connection that had been present since the moment they had been introduced. To let him take her to places she was certain she had never been.

Liz couldn’t contain the moan of pleasure that escaped her lips.

“Now…” he whispered nearly inaudibly, sealing the deal.

But before she could answer…

“May I cut in?” Dominick said, curtly.

The voice startled Liz, bringing her immediately to the present. The dangerous present.

“Of course,” she replied, breaking Reddington’s grip and moving to the arms of Dominick.

“You two clearly know each other,” the man surmised bitterly, draping his arm possessively around Liz’s waist.

“She is a former client, Dominick, so I’m unable to say,” Red replied cryptically, not breaking eye contact with Liz.

“Client privilege and all…” he winked at Dominick.

Liz shot Red a “thanks for that” look and shook her head.

“Thank you for the invitation, Dominick. I’m sure it will be an…unpredictable evening.”

Red gave Liz a final smoldering stare before turning and walking away.

He immediately looked at the clock.

_13 minutes._

_Damn._

This only made it more difficult. Dominick was clearly resentful of his rival; determined to keep his exquisite, new lady away from the man who had been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Red observed them from the side of the room as non-chalantly as possible. His best opportunity to liberate Elizabeth, and himself, from the chaos that was about to ignite was to be very near when the gunfire began.  It didn’t take long before the room erupted in bullets. As he had promised himself, Red put the bullet in Dominick’s skull himself at near point blank range. The man's body crumpling to the ground as Elizabeth stood frozen with fear.

“Remember your gun?” Red shouted as Liz starred motionless at Dominick’s bloody, lifeless body.

“Elizabeth! Now!”

Liz came to, hiked up her dress, grabbed the gun strapped to her thigh (her memory moving to briefly to Red’s earlier discovery of her weapon) and joined Red in the fight.

The two of them stood back to back fighting off the blaze of gunfire that ricocheted around them. If you hadn’t know the circumstance, one would have predicted they had been long-time partners. Anticipating each other actions. Synchronizing their movements.

“This way…” Red shout at the brief intermission, directing her to follow him towards door behind the obscure bar at the far end of the room.

_Did he know this would happen??!?!?_

_“Are you armed?”_

_“What would you say if I asked you to forget this mission…”_

_“Let’s go! Now…”_

_YES – he knew!_

_And he still attended?!!??_

_To rescue YOU! AGAIN!_

Liz was distracted by the concept. It was the searing pain in her chest that jarred her from her thoughts. Blood immediately staining her gown as a scream of pain escaped her lungs.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in this chapter. The current state of our beloved show has created of bit of writer's block! 
> 
> I welcome your thoughts on this piece. Your comments are appreciated and serve as the antidote!

CHRISTMAS EVE

“Where is he, Dembe?”

“Elizabeth, you have been hunting him for months. I will not tell you where he is.”

“Please…”

Dembe was torn. Red would be angry if he found out Elizabeth asked for him and Dembe denied the request. On most days, anyway.

“Is something wrong, Elizabeth?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“Elizabeth?”

_Silence._

_What are you doing, Liz?!?!?_

The last time she saw him was the night she watched him shoot Dominick as the gunfire erupted.

_Yes – he shot Dominick, let’s face it, that’s nothing new! He was there to SAVE you. AGAIN._

All she remembered was a searing pain in her chest; coming to briefly in what appeared to be a lavish hotel room as Red’s voice calmly told her she would be alright; and waking in the same room alone except for a kind nurse who was clearly told to cater to Liz’s every whim.

Several months had passed since then. She confirmed when she returned to Washington that it had been Harold who had alerted Red about her presence at the party and asked for his help, knowing full well Reddington would never decline. She had laid awake countless nights, waiting for him to visit Agnes on one of his midnight excursions. Hoping to thank him or finish what seemed to begin that evening at Dominicks’ party, she wasn’t sure which. But he hadn’t come.   He hadn't contacted her.  There was no activity linked to him.  It was as though he had fallen off the face of the earth.

_Silence._

“Elizabeth, the one day Raymond allows himself to grieve is Christmas Eve. I won’t disturb him on this day. Not for anyone…”

_Silence._

“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.”

“Dembe, wait!”

_Silence._

“The only thing Agnes wants for Christmas is Babbo,” Liz confessed meekly.

Liz had done everything she could think of to get the child to request something else. Anything else!  But even sitting on Santa’s lap at the mall, all her now three-year-old daughter asked for was Babbo. And, Liz couldn’t deliver.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Dembe said before he hung up the phone.

Liz’s heart sank. She had tried Red’s number directly but he hadn’t answered. He hadn’t answered her calls since she told him to leave all those months ago. It was her own fault.

Then her phone buzzed. It was a text from Dembe with only an address.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Liz pulled up to location revealed in the text - a small, unassuming catholic church in a tiny community outside of Annapolis, Maryland. Liz looked at the text again. Put the address in her GPS, again. Googled it, aagain.

The address was, in fact, a church.

_Dembe expects me to find Reddington in a chuch?!?_

Liz walked up to the door to find it unlocked.

_It is Christmas Eve, Liz._

She found the church warm but empty. Candles still lit from the Christmas Eve service that must finished less than an hour before.

Then she spotted him. On the far right side of the church. Kneeling. Hands folded in front of him. Forehead resting on his hands.

Liz was stunned. The absolute last place on earth she would have expected to find Raymond Reddington would be in a church. Praying?!?!?

She watched. Captivated.

“Can I help you?” Liz heard in a soft voice from behind her.

Turning to find the source of the voice, she came face to face an old man wearing the collar of a priest.

“Merry Christmas,” the man continued, pleasantly.

“Merry Christmas,” Liz returned.

“Is there something I can do for you?” the man prompted again.

Liz looked back at Reddington.

_Silence._

“Do you know Michael?” the man asked curiously.

Liz turned back to the priest.

_Michael?!?!?_

“Yes. Sort of,” she confessed.

The priest waited.

“We met a few years ago. I was worried about him tonight.”

The priest nodded. Septical.

“This is always difficult night for him. He hasn’t missed a Christmas in all these years.”

Liz’s heart stoped.

_“All these years…”_

“How long have you know him?”

The priest shrugged.

“Over thirty years now, I suppose. Since before…”

Liz was shocked. She had never met anyone that had known Raymond Reddington before he became the notorious criminal known around the world. Although this man didn’t seem to know Reddington. He knew a man named ‘Michael.’

“Before…” Liz prompted.

The priest hesitated. Yet, there had never been anyone who cared enough for Michael before to come looking for him on Christmas Eve. So...he took a chance.

“Before the murders…”

“Murders?” Liz prompted again.

The priest vacillated momentarily. It was the kind look in her eyes and the way she looked at Michael with a combination of compassion, sincerity, and...what he could only define as love….that compelled him to continue.

“His family – his wife and his daughter – were murdered on Christmas Eve over 30 years ago now.”

Liz’s hands moved immediately to your mouth as she caught her breath.

“Murdered?” she whispered.

His file said he abandoned them on Christmas Eve. This was a very different story!

“Yes,” the old priest continued. “Most of the people in the town knew about it at the time. Although most of them are gone now. He told me he ran out of gas. Was late to their holiday celebration. They missed the service that evening which I thought was odd as they had been a permanent fixture of the congregation. He said when he arrived…all he found was blood…and their bodies…” the elderly priest’s voice trailed off.

A tear slide down Liz’s face. The priest’s story explained so much.

“He told you?” Liz asked, confused. The man she knew was secretive. A loner. And certainly not religious.

“Yes, I was much younger then. I didn’t know how to explain to a young man that his family was taken for a reason. As part of God’s plan. I still don’t think I know…” the old man’s voice faded.

“He blamed himself. At times, I think the anger still consumes him. And the guilt, I suppose…”

Liz sighed and looked back at Red

“He comes here every Christmas Eve. No one knows him anymore so he sits alone in that corner,” the priest gestured towards Red.

“I don’t see him otherwise but he hasn’t missed a single Christmas in all these years. He prays, I think. All night sometimes. I just leave him here. Lock him inside. Sometimes, I find him still here when I return for Christmas morning services.”

Liz’s heart ached for the broken man still praying inside the church.

“You just made it. I was just on my way out…”

Liz nodded.

“Are you ok if I stay for a while?” she asked politely.

The old priest thought for a moment. Then nodded.

“No one has come for him before. In all these years. I suspect you are very special,” he inferred.

Liz offered a small smile.

“Be careful,” the priest cautioned.

“I’m not sure what you will find if you try to talk to him right now. I tried once in the early years. I sensed he was reliving that awful night. I can’t even imagine how the experience changes a person….”

Liz nodded as she watched the priest leave the building locking the door behind him.

She took a deep breath and walked quietly down the center isle of the small, yet ornate, house of worship.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him. Hoped it would come to her.

_Because that worked so well in Paris!_

Liz pushed the thought from her mind as she stood beside him. Red continuing his ritual, uninterrupted by her presence.

Liz took a deep breath then reached out to touch his shoulder.

Red startled. Turning slowly to face her. Tears streaming down his face. He seemed to be some where else. He acted as though he didn’t recognize her.

Gone was the strong, unflappable man that protected her at great lengths; that would stop at nothing to ensure her safety; whom she had watched take countless lives without a second thought.

Liz was stunned. In all their years together, she had never seen him cry. Not one tear. But tonight, he was…different. Small. Vulnerable. Childlike. Distraught. Heartbroken.

“What are you doing here?” Liz asked, softly.

Red shook his head.

“We always come to church on Christmas Eve,” he said matter-of-factly before returning to his ritual.

_“I think he is reliving it…”_

Liz wasn’t sure what to do next. She suspected the old priest was right.

“Red?”

He shook his head violently.

“If I had been on time….” he started.

“If I hadn’t been so foolish as to run out of gas…” he insisted.

Liz was scared.

“We would have been HERE!!! They would be…HERE!” he shouted, eyes closed tightly, fists in a ball shaking towards the alter.

He did blame himself; even though he wasn’t even there. He blamed himself.

Liz found matching tears now sliding down her cheeks.

“Red…” Liz said as she sat down beside his still kneeling form, laying her hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her this time; not through her as when she initially appeared.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.

Her words jarred him from his memories.

“Lizzie…” She heard him whisper. She couldn’t remember the last time he had called her that. It had been Elizabeth ever since she had left him; faked her death like the coward she was.

It took him a moment to regain his bearings. Another few moments before he spoke.

“Touche’, Elizabeth,” Red said softly, rising from his knees and taking a seat on the pew next to her; exhausted and wiping the tears from his eyes. Liz watched as ‘Michael’ slow but surely transformed back into Raymond Reddington before her eyes.

“You win,” Red resigned, putting his hands together and presenting them to her, awaiting the handcuffs to take him from this place for the final time. He surveyed the small church that had meant so much to him; that he knew he would never see again. His eyes fluttering closed at the memories – the smaller, broken ‘Michael’ returning.

Liz was hurt.  She hadn’t arrested him when he appeared in her hotel room or invaded her home to see Agnes. Why did he think she would arrest him tonight? In a church. On Christmas Eve.

Liz stood up from the pew and extended her hand.

“Come with me…”

Red looked at her skeptically.

“Come… _home_ …” she said, remembering vividly his plea in the mountains nearly a year earlier.

_Silence._

“to… _us._ ”

Red felt a shooting pain in his chest. He wanted nothing more than accept her offer; as unrealistic as it was. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. Not on Christmas Eve.

Liz sensed his hesitation.

“All Agnes wants for Christmas is you. I don’t know what I’m going to do if you say ‘no,’” Liz pleaded.


	12. Chapter 12

Liz’s heart leap into her throat when she heard the soft knock at the door.

_He came!_

She wasn’t sure he would. He promised he would follow her but, given the state in which she found him at the church, she couldn’t be certain he would follow through.

“Agnes!” Liz shouted. “Why don’t you get the door?”

“What?” the little girl questioned.

“I think there is someone at the door. Why don’t you get it,” Liz suggested.

Agnes was perplexed. And excited. Her mother never let her answer the door!

The little girl, in her red Christmas dress, opened the door to reveal her Christmas wish.

“BABBO!” the child shouted at the top of her lungs as she ran into the kneeling man’s arms.

“Merry Christmas, Agnes,” Red replied softly as he wrapped his arms tightly around the child.

Liz watched the two people she cared about most in the world in each other’s arms. Red looked better than he had when she found him in the church - more like the man she knew with each moment he held Agnes.

“Did Santa bring you? I asked him for you for Christmas!” the child confessed innocently.

“He did. He and Rudolph dropped me off on the roof. He said to tell you that he was sorry he couldn’t stay but he has lots of gifts to deliver yet tonight.”

Agnes beamed. Santa had gotten her exactly what she wanted for Christmas!

Agnes wiggled free and took Red by the hand and led him into the house. Red’s eye finally caught Liz’s gaze.

He offered a feeble smile, unsure how he would be received given the moment of weakness she had witness earlier.

“Merry Christmas,” he offered, hesitantly.

“Mommy, Santa brought Babbo!” Agnes exclaimed as she ran to her mother’s arms.

Liz excitedly hoisted the child into her arms.

“You are very lucky!” Liz replied, a quick wink directed to Red.

“Oh…mistletoe!” Agnes acknowledged excitedly, pointing to the plastic flower hanging above the doorway to the kitchen.

Red heart nearly burst as he watched Agnes pucker up her three-year-old lips to receive a Christmas kiss from her mother.

He hadn’t experienced Christmas in over 30 years. The domesticity and intimacy in this moment was overwhelming.

As Agnes wiggled to get down, Liz sensed Red’s melancholy. She approached him slowly, placing her palms on either side of his face.

“Thank you for helping me make her Christmas wish come true!”

Red nodded slowly, desperately trying to offer a smile through the decades of pain that had amassed around this particular night.

“Babbo, I’ve been waiting for you. Let’s watch Rudolph! The snowman scares me!” she confessed as she grabbed the hand of the only father she had ever known and dragged him to the sofa to protect her from the Abominable Snowman.

“Mommy, come watch Rudolph with us,” the child begged.

“We don’t have to be scared of the snowman anymore. Babbo is here!”

Liz smiled at Red who shrugged in return. Funny how a 50-year-old cartoon could serve a metaphor for their entire relationship.

By the time Rudolph was finished, Agnes was practically asleep in Red’s arms.

“Agnes, maybe Babbo would read you a bedtime story,” Liz suggested, throwing a knowing glance at Red who clearly relished the idea.

He stood up and moved towards Agnes room carrying the sleepy little girl whom he had successfully protected from the Abominable Snowman in his arms.

“Mommy, are you coming?” Agnes asked innocently as Red stopped in the entrance of the kitchen.

“I think I will let Babbo do the honors tonight, Agnes. Ok?” Liz smiled.

“Oh…Babbo…mistletoe!” Agnes exclaimed as pointed towards the ceiling and puckered up for her kiss.

Red couldn’t help but chuckle at the gesture as he proceeded to offer chaste kiss to Agnes on her tiny lips under the mistletoe.

“It tickles!” Agnes giggled, as Red’s five-o’clock shadow scratched her porcelain skin.

“That’s what they all say,” Red quipped, a sly smirk directed towards Liz as he procced through the kitchen to Agnes’ bedroom.

Liz rolled her eyes at the flutter that appeared in her stomach.  
_____________________________________________________________________________

Having put Agnes to bed, reading story after story until she simply couldn’t stay awake any longer, Red returned to the living room to find Liz dozing peacefully on the sofa.

He stood in the doorway watching her sleep. Relishing their evening together as a…

_Family?_

No - he couldn’t bring himself to name it. Yet, it was wonderful all the same.

Liz stirred under his gaze, opening her eyes to reveal him watching her from the doorway.

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Red nodded.

“Not only for putting her to bed but for coming tonight. You made her Christmas!”

_Only Agnes’?_

Red nodded again, still perched in the doorway, uncertain of what was supposed to happen next, but feeling as though he should take his leave.

Liz looked up at the mistletoe hanging in the doorway.

“Agnes would inform you that you are standing under the mistletoe,” Liz pointed out innocently as she got up from the sofa and approached Red.

The moment was palpable. The air still. Neither of them daring to breath.

The two of them. On Christmas Eve. Alone. Under the mistletoe. 

“Do you trust me?” he whispered.

Liz thought for a moment. Despite the fact that he was on the Most Wanted list. Despite the fact that she watched him do unimaginable things. Despite the fact that she as supposed to be hunting him. Yes – she did trust him.

She nodded. Unable to speak.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded gently yet firmly with the promise that something magical would happen if she could find it in herself to trust him.

He was determined to make this experience different than their passionate, urgent moment in the woods. Determined to take his time - to savor the smell, the feel, the taste of her.

She felt both of his palms on the side of her face; a heat spreading through her at his touch.

She leaned in to the warmth of his body against hers. Her hands resting shyly at his waist.

She sensed his eyes search her face for a final approval as she tilted her head towards him.

The first touch of his lips was nearly imperceptible - the ghost of a promise. When she pressed him for more, she felt a tender sense of passion. The pace - the time he spent savoring each touch, each taste of her - was intoxicating. She had never been kissed this way before. Yet each time she pressed for more, he seemed to slow his progress, cherishing each instant of their fleeting moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, he ended it and pulled back enough that she came into focus when he opened his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Lizzie.”


End file.
